Chapter II: Part XXIV
Chapter II: The Gambit of the West
Chapter XXIV
April 29, 1936
“
Arrêt! Arrêt! Ehm, soulever vos mains!”
The French prisoner kept shambling away toward the administrative tent.
“
Arrêt!”
“He has been deafened,” shouted another prisoner in German from within the medical tent.
Jost Schleifer lowered his rifle. An over-sergeant of Feldgendarmerie, his unit was struggling to process the enemy prisoners in its area of operations.
Feldgendarmerie-Trupp 11, attached to 1. Panzer-Division, had directed traffic along Hausser’s supply corridor during the intense fighting of the fifteenth and sixteenth. During the subsequent withdrawal from Paris, it had worked to maintain order among the men and vehicles rushing northward. When II Armeekorps was ordered east, 1. Panzer took the lead, quickly severing General Huntziger’s supply lines into Belgium and pinning his 2ème Armée against the border of Luxembourg near Arlon.
On the twenty-seventh, Hausser’s II Armeekorps -- now reinforced and reformed as XII Armeekorps -- had hammered Huntziger’s surrounded 2ème Armée after a merciless artillery barrage. After fourteen hours of combat, Huntziger had sent word of his intent to surrender.
The Feldgendarmerie had prepared to process the prisoners -- but soon received word that Luxembourg had allowed thousands of trapped French soldiers to cross its neutral border. Hausser had immediately been ordered to pursue them into Luxembourg, subduing any resistance by force. At the same time, von Neurath’s Foreign Office had lodged formal appeals of protest to the League of Nations, seeking relief for “This gross breach of neutrality and International Law, which constitutes a threat to the sovereignty of all nations.”
Oberst Nehring had promptly sent 1. Panzer racing up the Route d’Arlon and within two hours had captured Luxembourg City. Prime Minister Joseph Bech and his government had been quickly rounded up, and Grand Duchess Charlotte and her family placed under house arrest.
Soldiers of the Wehrmacht’s Feldgendarmerie wore chained gorgets to distinguish them as military police.
In total, XII Armeekorps now had just in excess of 48,000 prisoners. Some 41,000 of these were being processed in Belgium by the inundated Felgendarmerie units following 2. Panzer and 3. Panzer. Trupp 11 had fewer prisoners to manage, but a more complex task. Through I. Feldgendarmerie-Abteilung headquarters, Hauptmann Emrich had received an order to gather his Trupp’s prisoners into a central area for processing. Thus, a large number of prisoners -- 5,844 according to the most recent tally -- had been herded into the Stade National, the national stadium of Luxembourg. The Feldgendarmerie had been ordered to sort these into three categories: French soldiers captured on Free Belgian soil, French soldiers captured in Luxembourg, and soldiers of Luxembourg’s own military.
Prisoners in the first and last categories were to be disarmed, searched and given temporary accommodation until they could be taken by train to more permanent prisoner-of-war camps in Germany.
Prisoners in the third category were to be handed over to the Sicherheitsdienst -- the feared SD -- for questioning and trial, on the basis that continued resistance after lawful surrender constituted a violation of the laws of war, and that naturally any French soldiers caught in Luxembourg would not be protected by the same conventions as those who had given themselves up on the other side of the border. They were, read the order promulgated on the Sicherheitsdienst’s behalf by OKH, “To be processed and treated in accordance with the protocols for criminal prisoners and not prisoners-of-war.”
The French knew full well the consequences of transfer to the SD, and made every attempt to frustrate Trupp 11’s attempts to determine who had been captured across the border. Some had torn insignia from their uniforms, while others claimed to be Luxembourgish volunteers. The difficulty for Trupp 11 was that there
was considerable overlap in uniforms between some French units and the Luxembourgish volunteer company, making the sorting process agonizingly slow going.
“He has been deafened.”
Schleifer ran alongside the Frenchman and knocked his helmet off with one hand. The man turned, blinking at him timidly. He had no weapon. Schleifer gently placed the soldier’s hands upon his head and marched him into the medical tent, where he instructed the other prisoners to look after him.
“Shleifer!” It was Haupmann Emrich, commander of Trupp 11. He was a stout man, known throughout I. Abteilung as a petty and ill-tempered officer. “Why are you taking so long to give me the prisoner count?”
“Because more prisoners have been coming in steadily, Herr Hauptmann.”
“What is your best guess? Answer me!” Emrich was used to intimidating his men this way.
“Scharf, how many men in that enclosure?” Schleifer pointed to a large portion of the field surrounded by concertina wire.
The ruddy corporal checked his clipboard and counted silently for a moment. “We have counted 4,910 prisoners in the western enclosure, Oberfeldwebel. All French.”
“And that makes how many on the other side?” On the east side of the pitch, another group of prisoners huddled in a smaller enclosure.
“The eastern enclosure,” Scharf said after a bit of arithmetic, “contains 934 prisoners, of whom at most 350 are Luxembourgish. The remainder are French soldiers fighting illegally after the surrender.”
Schleifer nodded. “You see, Herr Hauptmann, 5,844 prisoners as of the latest count.”
“You are sorting the remaining Frenchmen too slowly. Hurry!”
Scharf and Shleifer both saluted.
Obergefreiter Müller had come up behind Emrich. He held up a telegram. “Herr Hauptmann, Dr. Baltazar from the Sicherheitsdienst shall be coming to review our progress. It says that his men shall take custody of the men who fought illegally in Luxembourg.”
Emrich swore. It seemed that the captain had previous acquaintance with this Dr. Baltazar.
“Do we at least have any prisoners of high rank to show him?”
“We do have most of the Luxembourgish officers, Herr Hauptmann,” Shleifer said, “but the highest ranking among them is a captain.”
“So we cannot boast a single man of importance? What shall I report to…” He swore again.
Generals Huntziger and François, both
Généraux d'armée, had been taken by Truppen 9 and 10, along with five other officers of general rank. This was a sore spot for Emrich -- who, it was well known, had desperately wanted to impress his superiors with his unit’s performance.
General Huntziger surrendered on April 28th to Generalmajor Guderian’s 2. Panzer-Division.
Several minutes later, Shleifer heard Hauptmann Emrich shouting for his senior NCOs to put everything in order and present themselves. He hurried over.
Several men were approaching the administration tent from the stadium’s main entrance. As they crossed the field, Schleifer saw that all but one of them wore the black uniform of the SD.
The five men stopped in front of Hauptmann Emrich.
The tallest of the uniformed men stepped forward and saluted. “Heil Hitler! This is Dr. Baltazar of the Sicherheitsdienst.”
The man who he had introduced stepped forward and saluted impassively. He was a younger man than Schleifer had expected -- perhaps in his late twenties -- with soft brown hair and rather large round eyeglasses. He wore a tailored three-piece gray suit with a Golden Party Badge on his breast pocket and swastika armband around his sleeve. “I am here to take custody of the special category of prisoners that you have separated.”
“We can expect to have them ready very soon.”
Dr. Baltazar blinked. “I do not understand, captain.”
“There are, ahm, more prisoners to be processed. They have just come in.”
Shleifer was taken aback to hear Baltazar begin to moan strangely. “Ohhhhhhh... That
is unfortunate.”
“Maybe you and your men could come back tomorrow,” Emrich said, but saw instantly that the next day would not be satisfactory, “-- or this evening, if that is better.”
“I have been regrettably occupied with civilian arrests all morning, but otherwise would have come here even sooner. The trucks will not wait on your own schedule, I regret to say. This lapse shall be noted to your superiors within the Wehrmacht, captain.”
“No! We shall find the remaining men.”
Dr. Baltazar whispered something to one of the uniformed SD agents with him. “You have tried to do that. You will put your men at my disposal.”
“As you wish,” said Emrich, scanning the area for subordinates, “Shleifer, Hanson, Ritter, Müller, Scharf! Do as you are told.”
“Better,” said Baltazar. “I shall first need an officer. Who is the highest ranking Luxembourgish prisoner in this stadium?”
“I -- I believe that we have a captain.” Emrich’s face grew flushed.
Baltazar’s face did not register the anticipated displeasure. “Very well, then. Bring him to me.”
After a few minutes, Hanson and Scharf returned with a middle-aged officer who had one arm heavily bandaged.
Dr. Baltazar led the officer away down the field toward the eastern enclosure, speaking to him quietly. Hundreds of tightly-packed men watched warily from behind the concertina wire.
Schleifer saw Baltazar draw a small black pistol from one of his suit pockets and fire it into the air. He was saying something to the prisoners behind the wire now -- then leaned very close to the captain and said something that Schleifer couldn’t hear.
After a few minutes, the two returned. Baltazar wore a rather smug expression. “My friend Captain Jacoby will be happy to inform you who his men are. He has half an hour. I will return when the time is up, and the prisoners will be ready.” He turned to leave.
“If he is not compliant?” Emrich asked.
“Then you know what to do.” He began to walk towards the entrance.
When he believed Baltazar was out of earshot, Schleifer turned sincerely to Hauptmann Emrich. “Speaking truly, Herr Hauptmann, I do not think that Dr. Baltazar can authorize what I think he is talking about.”
“I have no intention of it, Schleifer.” He paused, realizing that he had momentarily dropped his tough affectation. “Back to work then, Schleifer. Hurry!”
“I may have misheard you.” Both Schleifer and Emrich spun around. Dr. Baltazar had circled back behind them towards the medical tent. His uniformed retainers lingered in the background. “I thought I heard you say that you refused to execute an order, captain.”
Emrich was suddenly out of breath. “I merely. Said. That I didn’t intend for it to come to that. ”
Baltazar shook his head, almost sadly. “Are you attempting to subvert an order from the Führer?”
“No, no… I --”
“Then you are to provide me with the remaining French criminals in thirty minutes. Is this understood?”
“It -- yes. It is understood, Herr Baltaz --”
“
Doctor Baltazar,” he corrected sharply.
“It is understood, Dr. Baltazar.”
“Good. Heil Hitler.” Baltazar turned on his heel and paced away across the field.
Hauptmann Emrich swallowed. “Heil Hitler.”
When he was completely sure that Dr. Baltazar and his men had left the Stade National, Emrich rounded on Schleifer, hot with indignation at having been dressed-down in front of his men. “Get me those prisoners -- or it is your life.”
Oberfeldwebel Jost Schleifer was in no position to disagree.